Corruption
Authors: Jenika Snow,Sam Crescent
(Club Corruption, 1)
Sam Crescent and Jenika Snow
www.CrescentSnowPublishing.com
Published by Crescent Snow Publishing
Copyright © July 2015 by Sam Crescent and Jenika Snow
Nook Edition
First E-book Publication: July 2015
Edited by
Editing by Rebecca
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This literary work is fiction. Any name, places, characters, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or establishments is solely coincidental.
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Club Corruption is not for the faint of heart, or for the weak; it will ensure your pleasure is delivered with a dose of pain.
Vicious, a dominant and sadistic wolf shifter knows he must posses Kitty, his mate, at all costs.
Kitty, a lonely striper, is just trying to feel alive and accepted in an otherwise lonely world.
But when Vic offers Kitty the ultimate way to feel alive, to experience what she desires in the darkest depths of herself, she doesn’t know if giving herself over to the MC affiliated wolf shifter will ruin her, or finally give her the life she’s always wanted.
Bound (Club Corruption, 2) Coming Soon
T
his was her
life, had been for the last five years. It wasn’t one she’d aspired to, wasn’t something she’d thought of having when she was a little girl. But here she was, stripping in front of these disgusting men, ones that only came here to see half naked women shake their shit on stage.
Tits and ass, shaking her shit for a few dollars, and then going home and just to come back and do it all over again was what Kitty did day in and day out. The pay was shit on the weekdays, but that was better than nothing. When they were short staffed, Kitty worked doubles, trying to make ends meet to survive in this shitty town.
“The crowd out there is dead, too dead for me to waste my fucking time. I’m calling it a night,” Butters, missing a tooth in front and one of the regular girls, called out to Larry, the owner of this dump. Larry didn’t care if she gave a little something-something to the customers after hours, not if he got his cut.
“You better come in early. I ain’t paying your ass to leave, even if there are only a few guys out there willing to pay extra.” Larry was a dirt bag; a dirty, scummy asshole who liked to cop a feel with the strippers, simply because he thought he had a right to. The last time he tried that on her, Kitty gagged so hard she threw up on his dirty ass. That had been the last time he pulled that one.
She grabbed her stuff and went into the makeshift room the girls had erected to change in privacy, although what was the point when they stripped? But for Kitty, she stripped so she had money, not because she enjoyed it, and certainly not to give her fucked up, disgusting boss a free show. He already watched them on stage, probably jerked off thinking about them bent over his greasy desk in the back room.
Nasty.
Yes, he really was that and more. Maybe one day she’d get out of here, go back to school, and make something out of herself. Kitty certainly didn’t want to be a twenty-year-old stripper that had no other goals in her life. If she continued on this path, one of these days she’d get raped in the back alley or get pregnant and have to deal with that. She wasn’t ready for any of it, wasn’t ready to be a single mom, a rape victim, or an old stripper that had nothing else going for her.
She put on an old pair of sweats and an oversized t-shirt. She looked like shit in these clothes, but she wanted it that way. Looking unattractive and unseen was the look she was going for, even if she was half naked on the stage most nights.
She left out the back door, not saying goodbye to anyone, because she didn’t care one way or another. The strip club was rundown and dirty, and the people that worked there were the same. She didn’t want friends, didn’t want to have the one person she could lean on be a strung out addict that couldn’t stand straight, not even on stage.
The night was cool, the scent of trash from the dumpsters across from her pungent and rank. She held onto her backpack tighter, the sound of her worn and dirty sneakers making soft padding sounds on the cracked asphalt. Of course, the city where she worked was littered with drug addicts, prostitutes, and homeless. She had no car, and getting a taxi out here at this hour, in this neighborhood, was a shot in the dark on most nights. When the cops did their nightly patrol, trying to catch a drug deal, or pick up a girl on the corner, everyone scattered like fleas away from water.
She stopped at the corner where the building and sidewalk met, grabbed the hat she had stuffed in her bag, and put it on, tucking her hair under it. She only lived about seven blocks up the street, and although it wasn’t in the greatest neighborhood, it was a step up from this dump. The city kind of morphed into a nicer area about ten blocks up the road. It was strange, kind of like stepping into a parallel dimension where behind her was the trash of the world, and in front of her were actual hardworking, clean people.
She made her way past the whores on the corner, the pimps waiting in their Cadillacs on the side of the street, and the drug deals that happened in the darkened shadows.
Making her way past them all, her head downcast, and her focus on her feet, Kitty kept her hand in her purse. She had a bottle of pepper spray in there, as well as a pocket knife that probably wouldn’t do much harm, but would make an asshole coming after her think twice.
God, what would her parents think if they a saw her now? As immigrants from Poland, they probably would have been disgusted that they’d worked so hard to come here, to give her a better life, just for her to turn it all to shit.
But then they’d died, taken out of this world far too soon. She didn’t like thinking about it, of course, because they were all she had. Getting that phone call two years ago telling her that her parents had been killed in a drunk driving accident would haunt Kitty until she died. She knew that.
She’d had friends growing up, kids from school, kids from the neighborhood where she’d lived, but that all changed when Kitty just up and left. She’d packed what she could, taken the money her parents had left her and all of her savings, and left everything behind. She couldn’t have dealt with it any other way, couldn’t deal with the memories that surrounded her. That was over a year ago and six thousand miles away.
So here she was, stripping even though she didn’t really
need
to.
She still had a bit of the money that her parents had left her, but it certainly wasn’t enough to live on. They hadn’t exactly been living the life of luxury, but they had been comfortable.
She walked quicker, finally moving out of the real bad part of town. Kitty had tried looking for other work, had looked at waitressing, sales, anything else. But there was a apart of her, maybe a sick, demented part that liked that she was in danger constantly, that at any given moment she could die, or worse, be mutilated by a tweaked out junkie.
Maybe a part of her longed for that rush of adrenaline that coursed through her veins every night, every time she looked at the men watching her, knowing that her life could be snuffed out, and she wouldn’t have done anything to stop it.
This twisted part of Kitty just wanted to let go, to stop trying, because what was the point? She had no one in this world that loved her anymore. The friends she’d had years ago would look at her like a piece of trash…the same piece of trash she saw nightly on the street corners.
She’d not only lost her parents that day, she’d lost a piece of herself, a piece of her humanity, her sanity, hell, her dignity.
She was no one anymore, just a girl living each day at a time, not caring what happened, even though she should. She might tell herself being safe was right, the smart thing to do, but deep down, Kitty couldn’t have cared less. That’s how deep in the rabbit hole she really was, and she couldn’t see herself getting out.
The club was
dark, smoky; the sounds of moaning, grunts of pleasure, and whips flying through the air then slapping against skin filled Vic’s head. He was hard, needing to find some pussy to ease himself, and not caring what female he found that pleasure in.
Corruption was a BDSM club, catering to clientele that liked their pleasure mixed with a good dose of dirty pain. He and the MC he was affiliated with owned the business. Like him, the members of the Lupine MC were made up of wolf shifters, bad motherfuckers that, if crossed, had no problem shifting into their animal forms and tearing a bastard’s throat out.
This was the world they lived in, the life they led. It was eat or be eaten, and no fucking way was Vicious going to allow some prick to step all over him and what he’d worked for, worked toward.
He checked out the girl in the center stage, the spotlight on her. Deacon, one of the Lupine MC members, and a sadistic sonofabitch, was beating the hell out of her. Blood ran down her spine, welts and open wounds marred her back. But she was a pain slut, loved the broken skin, the agony that led to her ecstasy.
Vic moved past them, past the St. Andrew’s cross, away from the spanking benches, and past the VIP rooms that let the Club Corruption members take a girl to a room and do whatever the fuck they wanted to as long as it was consensual.
But hell, sometimes he knew there was force, knew there was men that liked it rough, and the women that liked to get a little bruises and marks on them. It was all part of the game, all part of the pleasure.
It was Club Corruption at its finest, and fuck but he liked the depravity of it.
